A Perfect Life
by animegus farmus
Summary: A (mostly) true tale of a poor boy who won fair maiden's heart. Oh, and some other stuff. A Gulchverse prequel to it all...


_Disclaimer: I AM SO DARN HAPPY TO BE WRITING AGAIN I DON'T EVEN CARE THAT I DON'T OWN TIN MAN! But I wouldn't argue if life felt like lending him, er, the story to me from time to time. Lalalalalalala. Ooh, happy meter on full, INSANITY IN THE HOUSE._

_Author's Note: This was originally supposed to be a oneshot, what more do I need to say?_

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Our dashing hero would very much like to tell you a story. He'd _love_ to spin you a tale of daring car chases, irate cops, and a certain, ah, _misunderstanding_ with the bearded lady's husband. Nothing would delight him more than to give you a detailed account into the intricacies of grand theft hot air balloon, salutary hand gestures, and intrepid, if involuntary, flights into the unknown; entrancing you, if you'd but let him, with descriptions of the bluest of skies, shimmering, sparkling waters, and the magic of the rainbow seen up close...

Thing is, he'd been raised with the hard and fast rule that you don't tell marks, er, _folks_ stories that they won't believe - even if they are true. Because somehow he's fairly certain you _wouldn't_ believe him - it probably had something to do with the storm, the twin suns and that strange little popping sensation that happened in between.

And, of course, it is more than a little difficult to begin any sort of verbal narrative when you have three wannabe linebackers piled on your back. Those mostly all begin and end with 'oof'.

But then, he wasn't destined to be long disappointed in this loss of narrative opportunity. The young carnie was, after all, very much a creature of the now; _you_ currently occupied the space in time known as _then,_ _now_ he was far more interested in the curious lavender gaze of the most beautiful girl he'd ever beheld.

He wanted to tell her a story, one that was not only true but, to his panicked realization, was also sincere.

Probably best if he left the Strongman's wife out of it, and he might perhaps mention that he knew the owner of the aforementioned hot air balloon - who'd kind of grown used to its sudden disappearances by now and would quite reasonably expect that it would be returned eventually. Or else.

Gazing at the goddess before him with what was becoming alarmingly close to awe, it occurred to him, vaguely, that _eventually_ might be a very long time in coming...

The goddess inclined her head regally and, with a smile that could _only_ be laughing at some private joke, asked, "Are you a good witch or a bad witch?"

Who was he to let slide an opening like that? Smiling winningly, he wheezed, "Actually, I prefer to think of myself as more of a wizard."

Her answering laugh would have stolen his breath away had he any left to spare - when he told this story to their children he was going to leave the Brute Squad out of it.

"Oh no, you do not," the dancing-eyed girl trilled merrily through her laughter, "I am afraid my ancestors already fell for that one, I do not think I'll be handing the keys to the kingdom over just yet. I think you may let him up now," she continued, addressing her apparent bodyguards, "He does not seem inclined to drop a house on me at present. In fact, for an Othersider his entrance was positively polite."

"My apologies," she continued formally as the oversized oafs begrudgingly withdrew to acceptable leaping distance, "I am afraid my bodyguards tend not to react well to surprises, especially given that Slippers have an alarming habit of turning the world upside down by their mere presence."

Old Addie's algorithm for sorting the wealth of opportunity that was a friendly young woman in conjunction with such promising signs as _bodyguards_ floated through his mind only to be dismissed like a puff of smoke. Some people were beyond such machinations, untouchable, a queen enthroned on a pedestal far above the sea of marks, unreachable to one such as he but by the purest of intentions...

Horry would be proud; Addie was probably looking for somewhere to be sick.

The teenage boy's smile was meant to be suave and suggestive - instead it came off as dreadfully in earnest when he drawled, "Would you like your world turned upside down?"

The guards, he figured, were thaaaaat close to flattening him again, the twinkle in those lavender eyes, however, held a hint of what he very much hoped was teen rebellion as she murmured speculatively, "Well, I suppose that depends on what happens to my world when you do." With a curious tilt of her head she added, "What is your name, slipper?"

Drat, but he supposed it must needs come to that in the end. Ah well, here went nothing.

"Alfred Horatio Addlebert Mortimer Ogilvie."

There, it was said, the one thing that all his cool could not overcome. If only they'd let Old Mort call him Spock.

The lavender eyes blinked. "Alfred Horatio Addlebert Mortimer Ogilvie?" she repeated blankly.

"I was named for each of my potential fathers," he explained glibly, a note of challenge in his tone, "Mother was pretty much the only single woman in a carnival whose male to female ratio was terribly uneven. She didn't think it'd be fair to play favorites and leave the other fellows with blue b-...er, lonely."

If eyes were like stars, hers were undergoing an entire heaven's worth of solar eclipses, so fast did they flutter.

"They positively adored her for it," he added, just a touch sardonically. She may live on a gilded pedestal, but this topic was dynamite at its base, one word against his family and she'd be right down amongst the masses. "Best four fathers a man could have."

A puzzled brow tilted upon a graceful neck. "Did they call you anything for short?" she asked in a voice of undisturbed curiosity.

"That," he replied airily, a twinkle in his eye and an oddly relieved sensation in his heart, "depends entirely on who's doing the calling...or who they want to blame my existence on," he added with a waggle of his brows.

If he could bottle that laugh and listen to it or all eternity he would. And the look that followed, _that_ look was the friend to teenage boys everywhere. It said: this boy is entirely unsuitable; I simply _must_ bring him home to meet the folks.

"Well I cannot have the peoples of the O.Z. emulating their example," she noted with a wry quirk of the lips, "it would become most confusing. How about..." her voice trailed off as her gaze drifted over the hot air balloon and down to where the twin suns' light danced their reflections across the lake, "...Ahamo." Eyes suddenly sparkling, a shimmer of laughter trying to hide itself behind a serious mien, she remarked, "Yes, I shall call you Ahamo."

Someday when he told this story to his grandchildren, he'd let them know just how clever their grandmother thought she was being.

"Care to walk with me, Ahamo?"

"Sure, why not?" Ahamo replied with an impish grin. He was liking his new name better than Alfred Horatio Addlebert Mortimer Ogilvie already, especially when she rolled off her lips like that. "And what, by the way," he pondered, sticking his hands in his pockets as he strolled after her with a leisurely pace, "might I call you?"

That had to be the most graceful faltering of steps he had ever seen, and had elegant grimaces even been invented?

Lavender eyes looked up at him sheepishly and replied, "Aurex Dorothea Ballari Cahya Faree Eureka Hayelette Lavender Iris Saadet Ozma Nianda Kikiaru Roganda Jinjur Tafariah Valkyrie Witchbane Yangwidere Xandia Zaire Quelala Ume Pandora Mystmeidens Gale...of the Outer Zone," she finished over uproarious laughter.

"And you thought my name was bad!" the newly named Ahamo crowed through splitting sides.

"I beg your pardon," She-of-the-Very-Long-Name replied defensively, "I was named for ever generation of my family since the time of the Original Slipper."

That just set him off again into even more painfully rib splitting guffaws.

"Oh quiet you," she huffed with dignity, "at least I have a better selection to choose from."

"Sure. Sure thing, Zo," he chortled, still trying to hold his sides together, "whatever makes you feel better."

There went the lightening blinking again. "Zo?" she asked, mystified.

"Well it's that or Alphabet Soup," he chirped merrily. "Oh come on," Ahamo stated pointedly, "don't even try and pretend like you didn't name me off the reflection of the hot air balloon."

That guilty little smile was the cutest thing he'd ever seen. "Well it seemed such a happy coincidence," the lips forming it said.

"So what'll it be? AS, my little Alphabet Soup, or Zo? If you get to rename me, it's only fair that I should return the favour."

"Zo," she tried experimentally, testing it out. "Zo," she repeated, "yes, I like that."

As only someone with twenty-six names could, he imagined.

"You know," Zo continued, measuring him with a contemplative gaze, "I think I am going to keep you."

Ahamo laughed, "Really? You think so?"

"Yes," she responded with a decided nod, "yes, definitely. I am keeping you."

"That so?" he returned, amused, "Well I'm afraid you might find that a tad difficult. You see, as an American citizen I am entitled to life, liberty, property, and all that jazz."

"I will just have to ask the Queen to intercede on my behalf, then," Zo countered, unperturbed.

"Wouldn't work," Ahamo informed her with a shake of his head, momentarily distracted as a guard brushed past to open the door for them. He'd forgotten about the guards - they looked oddly worried - and where had the mansion come from? Shrugging, he continued, "You see, my ancestors fought a war a while back just so that we wouldn't have to listen to any kings, or queens either. Well," he amended reflectively, "maybe not _my_ ancestors, they probably just entertained the troops." On both sides, and probably looted the dead afterwards. Well, maybe not Horatio's ancestors, but he only had a twenty-five percent chance of sharing those ones, and probably not the most likely twenty-five percent.

"Is that so?" she inquired archly, slipping through another doorway.

"'Fraid so. So it doesn't matter what kind of royal proclamation or decree or order or what have you your queen utters, I don't have to listen," the young carnie explained blithely, "Guess you are going to have to try something else."

"Indeed?" Zo asked, taking a large ring out of a nearby case.

Wait, that wasn't a ring...

"How about," she began as she sat back in a large – and obviously gilded – chair and settled the circlet in place, "we make it a Royal Request?" finished Her Majesty the Queen.

Well who'da thunk it? Both Addie's and Horry's dreams for his future realized in one shot.

"Well," grinned Ahamo, "when you put it like that..."

And from that day forward, he was hers...


End file.
